Losing My Mind
by CauseChocolateRocks
Summary: Two sides. One war. Two missions. One aim. "It's not the end!" he half-yelled, half-slurred out at the empty street. "Fine, I fell really hard for you, but I'm never gonna give in!" One success. One failure. Just how far is this going to go? Oneshot. Songfic for 'Losing My Mind', by Maroon 5.


**Disclaimer:**** Sadly, I don't own any of the Harry Potter characters. Everything belongs to JK Rowling, and I'm merely allowed to play around with them. No copyright infringement is intended.**

**I've had this story spamming my head for a while, and writing a one-shot is a pretty good way to get out of writer's block… We'll see if it works miracles like 'The Cliff' did. Enjoy! Read and review!**

_Losing my mind_

-o-O-o-

_**Hermione Granger**_

"Are you sure you want to do this Hermione?" Kingsley asked for the fifth time that day. Hermione was tired of it.

"Yes, Kingsley." she repeated mechanically. "I'll do it. It's not as if someone else could, anyway."

Kingsley shifted nervously. "But… We could call it off, you know. I mean, if you-"

"No." she cut him. "It has to be done, and I'll do it. Stop telling me what to do as if I was nothing more than a bloody first-year!"

He shook his head as she walked off, but she pretended not to notice. Why were they all bossing her around? She wasn't a China doll; she could take care of herself. Even…

She shuddered. _Even if Harry was dead. _

The Chosen-one had died a year prior, in the epic Hogwarts battle. He had done what he was born for, vanquish the Dark Lord, but many supporters remained. They were led by Lucius Malfoy and his son.

Yet Hermione knew no fear. Not against these half-assed pure-blooded jerks, at the very least. She would complete her mission successfully, and prove all the un-trusting order members that even though she wasn't of age yet, she could show courage, perseverance and, of course determination. She didn't need Harry.

She didn't need anyone.

-o-O-o-

_**Draco Malfoy**_

"Next." the half-assed pure-blooded jerk, now vice-leader of the Death-Eater forces, said, waving his hand at one of his men lazily.

The man bowed, and got out a piece of parchment. "So now, we have the weekly information from our contact at the ministry…"

"Next." Draco waved his hand at him again.

The man looked indifferently at his boss. "We have the list of Muggleborns left to attack…"

Draco sighed and the man stopped. "Don't we have anything new?" he groaned.

The man _harrumph_ed. "As a matter of fact," he started. Draco looked up. "We do." he ended. Draco stared at him, silently praying him to continue. "We have captured an Order member. We were planning on killing her since she wouldn't divulge any information, but if you want to see her personally…"

"I do." Draco declared. "Who is she?" he asked.

"A certain Hermione Granger." he replied.

Draco's heart skipped a beat. "Granger? Mudblood Granger from school?"

The man nodded. "The very same. She is currently in the dungeons, if you would like to…"

"Draco!" a shrill voice sounded from the corridor.

Draco cringed. "Excuse me, Macnair; it would appear my aunt Bella is in need of me now."

"DRACO!" the deranged shriek sounded again, louder.

"Right now." Draco corrected himself. He got off his throne and walked out of the room. He would visit Granger later. But when he did, he promised himself it would be lots of fun.

He smirked.

-o-O-o-

When that 'later' came, Draco was in a pretty bad mood. Sure, Bellatrix was loads of fun when it came to torturing prisoners, but for the rest…

Draco pinched the top of his nose. For the rest, she was a pain in the… erm… _neck_.

Now he was stomping off to the dungeons to torture Granger. Anyone would have been scared at that point, seeing the glare plastered on his face. He only hoped trying to coax the Mudblood would put him in a better mood.

Finally, he arrived in front of her cell. He was surprised by what he saw there. He had half expected to see a buck-toothed and bushy-haired teenage girl, but now that he looked at her clearly, he could see the girl he had met eight years ago had clearly vanished.

In her place stood a battle-worn, tired and dirty Granger. She was huddled against a corner, holding her legs to her chest. Her forehead was resting on her knees, which made it impossible for Draco to determine whether she was sleeping or not. Her hair no longer looked bushy, as it was matted with mud, dust and something that looked like dried blood. Her clothes, which composed of a simple baby blue blouse and jeans, were torn and dirty too, and she was barefoot.

Draco grinned. He felt a strangely satisfying feeling watching the girl who had outshined him for his whole life be reduced to her real rank: that of a Mudblood.

He entered the cell, slamming the metallic gate hard behind him. As the loud _clang_ echoed around the four-square-meters-large room, her head jerked up. When she saw him he saw nothing in her eyes but pure despair. He sneered. "Granger."

"Malfoy." she croaked back at him. Her voice was so hoarse he briefly wondered when was the last time she'd had a glass of water, before mentally shaking his head and reminding himself that he didn't care.

"So," he chuckled. "Fell into my hands, have you?" She didn't answer. _Predictable_ he thought. "I've been waiting a long time for this, you know, Granger. Not only seeing you at my mercy, but also taking the world from you and… what is it that they called you? Ah, yes! The 'Golden Trio'. Potty, Weasel and Mudblood." He chuckled again at his own joke. "Now Potty's dead, you're soon to be, that will only leave me Weasel to deal with. It'll be pretty easy. He can barely hold his wand up, let alone steady!" He paused a little before adding darkly: "Then again, maybe he might not have your… reluctance, and he will accept an offer to join me."

"Never!" Granger yelled. "Ron would never join you! He'd rather die!"

Draco chuckled again. "You're probably right. He would never be clever enough to consider an offer." He turned and prepared to leave. "Anyway, I just came to rub that bit in your nose before you execution. Send my regards to Scarface for me, will you?"

He opened the door once more, but she cried after him, panic seeping into her voice. "You can't kill me!" she said. "I have information you need!"

He hesitated, before turning back with an evil grin on his face. "You'll find," he said arrogantly. "That it has never stopped me before."

He watched her shiver in probable fear before spinning around and leaving, slamming the door shut after him once more.

-o-O-o-

"_What?!_" Lucius Malfoy shrieked, outraged. "You _threatened her_?!"

He was pacing the cold marble floor of the dining room, place which had recently been converted into a meeting place. And right now, he was simply furious at his son's actions.

"What could you possibly hope to gain?" he demanded angrily.

Draco sighed. "Look at it this way, Father: Granger has information that she doesn't want to give us. By making her believe she's going to die soon, she'll want to give us that information, to escape her death… Not that she will, of course." he added with an evil smirk**.**

Lucius held his nose up high in the air and shook his head, unimpressed. He paced the marble floor for a couple more minutes before he stopped abruptly and gave a short laugh. "I've got it!" he declared.

Draco arched an eyebrow delicately. "What have you got, Father?" he asked carefully.

"A better plan!" the elder villain declared.

Draco snorted. His plan was perfect! There was no need to make another. "And what might it be?" he asked politely.

His father pointed straight at his nose. "You!" he said. "You will seduce the Granger girl and force her to spill all her secrets."

For a moment, Draco thought he'd misheard. When he realised that it was not the case, he laughed. "What?" he asked. "Make her talk, by seducing her?"

Lucius sneered at his son. "If you doubt your own skills, I could give it a try…" he declared smugly.

That poked at the younger man's pride. "I can seduce any girl I want. It's just that… She's not a girl."

His only superior arched his own eyebrow. "Pray, tell me what she is, then." he challenged.

Draco groaned. "I don't know… She's like a bird, I guess. Small, insignificant and annoying." he tried.

"Listen, Draco." Lucius said, warningly. "You had better make the little Granger bird chirp, because otherwise… I might be sending you to the execution block instead of her."

Draco gulped down.

-o-O-o-

When Draco entered Hermione's cell the next day, he felt sort of strange. Sorry for himself, obviously, but also sorry for her. He knew he wasn't the nicest person alive, and if he was a girl, he wouldn't like himself. Especially if he was Mudblood Granger.

"Gran-" he called out, before clearing his throat and correcting himself. "Hermione… Are you okay?"

'_Stupid, stupid, stupid!_' he scolded himself. '_Of course she's not alright. She's held in a cold and damp cell against her will with nothing to eat or drink except stale bread and murky water._'

He was not surprised when she looked up from her sitting stance in her corner to glare at him. "No." she croaked. "I am most certainly _not_ okay."

He sighed and walked over to her, sitting down next to her. "I'd have been surprised if you were."

He pulled out his wand and she cringed away from it. However, all he did was conjure a glass of water. "What are you doing?" she asked.

He gulped down the glass. "It's awfully stuffy in here." he explained, turning around to face her. Their faces were mere millimetres apart, and he noticed that she had brown eyes. Not plain brown, but a vivid, chocolate swirl kind of brown.

She gulped down hard, her eyes darting from the glass in his hand and back to him, over and over again.

He smirked. "You want it?" he asked tauntingly, pretending not to know.

She licked her lips and nodded.

He arched and eyebrow. "You're gonna have to ask for it. Say the magic word." he said, swirling the couple of drops left in the glass around for her to see.

She smirked evilly. "_Imperio_." she said, with a voice as cold as ice.

He shook his head. "You can't beat me at my own game, Granger." he warned.

She stood up and walked to her only window, a narrow strip of sunlight in the eastern wall. "Believe me, I could if I really wanted to."

That surprised him. "Don't you?" he asked.

She sighed. "When you've lived through as much as I have, you'll know that death is an easy escape."

He stood up and waved his wand, filling the glass up with water again. "You want this?" he asked.

She sighed. "Of course I do. I'd like to die with my voice back, if you don't mind."

"You only need to do one thing." he whispered, walking closer to her.

Defiantly, she stood, unmoving as he inched closer. "And what might that be?" she asked.

"I think you know." he told her. "Just chirp, little bird. Chirp, and the glass is yours."

She shook her head. "You think you'll buy me with a glass of water?" she asked. "It'll take more than that to break me."

He smirked. "I thought you'd say that." he said, giving her the glass, which she promptly downed. "That's what I came here for. I want to bargain. You see, me and my dad don't exactly get along well… You give me secrets that you don't give him, and I give you what you crave… Freedom."

She laughed and shook her head. "I want a fair bargain, not one based on a lie." she said normally, her voice croaking much less.

He looked oddly at her. He thought she'd at least consider it. "What do you mean?" he asked her, clearly confused.

"A fair bargain." she told him again, waving her glass at him so he could fill it up. "I give you my secrets, and you give me yours."

He gulped down. That was certainly unexpected. "I'll consider it." he said, before storming out of her cell.

Outside, her guardian and his best friend, Blaise Zabini, was waiting. "So?" he asked. "How did it go?"

Draco's lips were pursed. "Not as I planned." And that was enough to make him annoyed.

-o-O-o-

The next day, Draco returned to Hermione's cell, a book in hand. She looked up upon his entrance, not seeming the least bit surprised at his sudden appearance. "Are you in or not?" she asked.

He sighed. "What do you want to know?" he replied.

She shrugged. "Anything, I guess. Secrets. Things that I'm not meant to know."

An idea immerged in his mind. "Fine. I'll tell you a secret, then you tell me one." he proposed.

She shrugged. "Seems fair to me. But we have to tell each other secrets of the same nature." she bargained.

"Deal." he agreed, sitting down next her. He took the book out and handed it to her. "This is my favourite book."

She turned it around a couple of times before she laughed. "Richard the Third, by William Shakespeare? That's a Muggle book!"

He shrugged. "I know. I wanted to show it to you. Especially the dog-eared page." he revealed, pointing to said page.

She looked puzzled, but opened the book there anyway.

"Read the highlighted passage out loud," he told her. "It might be of some use to you."

"_Pity, you ancient stones,_" she read. "_Those tender babes whom envy hath immured within your walls, rough cradle for such little pretty ones. Rude, ragged nurse, old sullen playfellow for tender princes, use my babies well. So foolish sorrow bids your stones farewell._"

"Beautiful." he whispered. She looked at him, puzzled, but he had his eyes closed.

He gulped down hard and revealed: "My favourite book is _Julius Caesar_… By William Shakespeare."

He opened his eyes and, for the first time in his life, met hers in a neutral expression, hate less. It felt nice.

-o-O-o-

"Draco!" Bellatrix shrieked.

The said nephew winced. "Yes, aunt Bella?" he said, turning around to face his crazy aunt.

"Two weeks!" she said, holding up two of the three remaining fingers on her left hand. "It's been two weeks since you've been assigned to extract the Order's positions from the Mudblood!"

He sighed. "I know, aunt Bella, but she won't tell me anything if _I_ don't tell her anything." he explained.

She threw her very impressive mane of hair over her shoulder. "Then tell her!" she yelled.

"But…" he tried to reason. "What if she got out…?"

"First: she won't get out. Second: if she does, I'd kill her before she divulged anything. Third: We'll get the info faster to our boss than she gets it to hers." she counted the reasons off her right hand, which had all of its fingers still there.

He sighed. "Fine, I'll get the info." he gave in. "Don't get you knickers in a bunch."

She looked like she was about to reprimand him about his choice of words, so he just left the room without a word and headed straight to the dungeons. When he got in front of Hermione's cell, he heard some whispers coming from the inside. He was about to slam the door open when Blaise came out, an empty tray in his hands.

Draco caught the closing cell door and stepped inside. She was looking out her strip of light, and suddenly, words failed him. She looked somehow peaceful there, as the evening rays kissed her skin in a way no person had ever done. It reflected on her hair and gave it golden highlights that partially blinded him. She was, in short, breathtaking.

He cleared his throat and walked towards her. He looked outside with her, staring at the simple beauty of clouds before he whispered in her ear: "Fifty percent of our effective is preparing for an attack in the Muggle town of Nottingham."

She blinked and turned around to face him. For the past two weeks, they had only told each other secrets about their personalities or such. None of them had wanted to divulge top secret info, but, at the same time, they had gotten to know each other better, and this was the first time he's spoken of the war.

Then again, he was supposed to be seducing her. And, as he saw the sunlight reflect into her eyes, he thought it might not be that hard. "Chirp." he told her.

She blinked again. "We have troops set to convince the werewolves to change sides, in a place near York." she revealed.

He nodded and took off his cloak, placing it on her shoulders. She went back to staring out of the window and he declared: "I've always wanted to have a kitten."

He put his chin on her shoulder and she whispered back: "Me too."

After a few minutes, he straightened and left the room without a word. Outside, Bellatrix was waiting. "So?" she asked with that shrill and annoying voice of hers. "Did she reveal anything?"

He opened his mouth to tell her about the York troops, but then thought of her, her fragile looking frame against that cold stone wall, her defenceless chocolate brown eyes, and he pitied her. "Nothing." he lied. "Nothing at all."

Bellatrix sighed. "You'll just have to try again tomorrow." she gave in, and left the dungeons. Once the door had closed down behind her, he let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding.

He looked down at his hands, terrified. "What's happening to me?" he asked himself. "I'm lying to my family." He gulped. "I'm lying to them for a… a Mudblood." He clenched his hands again and looked up to a candle. "I've got to be losing my mind."

-o-O-o-

Draco was lying down in his bed, thinking about Hermione, when a loud _crack_ echoed around the room. He looked at the source of the noise, intending on scolding whoever had disturbed his moment, but instead, he just gasped.

Theodore Nott Junior, his long-time friend and ally, was lying in a bloody heap, crippled, on his emerald green carpet. "Theo!" he called out, rushing to the raven haired man.

He was shaking pretty badly, blood gushing out of a wound in his head into a pool that stained the wool. "Drake…" he croaked, looking around, but probably not seeing anything. "Drake…"

"I'm right here, Theo." Draco reassured him, trying to look at where to stop the blood first. He cupped his friend's thigh, which had been split open, exposing the pulsing artery underneath.

"Nottingham…" Theo whispered.

Draco froze. "What?" he whispered, barely loud enough for either of them to hear.

Theo's head lolled to one side, then the other, back and forth, again and again, and he repeated: "Nottingham… Ambush… Nottingham…"

Suddenly, he let out a cough and spit out blood, before he convulsed, then lay still, cold and unmoving. Draco was still frozen in shock. They had known. The Order had known where to find them. There could only be one possible reason so as to that: there was a spy within their ranks.

And as he watched the ruby stain grow still bigger against the carpet, he thought about Hermione again. Then an impossible theory: what if he was the traitor?

-o-O-o-

After the Nottingham Ambush, as the Death Eater council now called it, Draco didn't tell Hermione any more military secrets for weeks. It had been almost a month later that he let her know about the taking over of the Sports and Games department of the Ministry of Magic.

It was small, sure, but it was a kind of bait to see whether or not the information would get out or not. She did tell him another war secret too, of course, but he had kept it. For some reason, he found himself unable to tell on her.

Nothing happened this time, though, no attempt to stop them, nothing. He began building trust in her again, and told her more secrets. She told him hers, which he always kept. Somehow, however, he thought, almost knew, that she didn't keep his. Some other operations were countered, but he blamed it on their luck every time.

After all, he wanted to keep seeing her. Seeing her, somehow, made him happy

Even if he didn't show it. Neither smiled much during their encounters, but at least they no longer glared. He wanted her to smile, though, wanted her to laugh, for him to see her eyes shine in the perfect light of the evening out of that strip of light they called a window…

Draco groaned. What was on with him? Hermione, Hermione, Hermione. Always Hermione. These days, it almost seemed as if his world revolved around her. It was almost as if… He gulped.

As if he loved her.

And suddenly, he was angry. He couldn't love her! This whole plan was supposed to make _her_ fall in love with _him_, not the other way around! This thought built up a fire inside of him, and he left the room where he was and almost ran down to the dungeons.

When he arrived in front of her door, however, the angry fire that had roared mere instants before in her heart had now diminished to embers, barely glowing in the darkness of his soul. He opened her cell door and entered. The embers left his chest.

She was staring out of her slit of light, tears gleaming against her pale cheeks. The blond reflections of the light formed a sort of halo around her, as if the sun itself wanted to hold her and wipe these tears away.

"What is it?" he asked her, almost subconsciously. "What is it that we have?"

She sniffed and shook her head, but she didn't answer.

He walked closer to her until he was about two feet away. "It's strange, isn't it?" he asked her.

Once more, she didn't answer.

"It's strange, the way I feel." he continued. "I'm right behind you, yet I can't find you… Every day, as I get older, all I think of is you. I'm a free man, yet a prisoner… Your prisoner." He paused for a while. "What have you done to me?" he asked. "What are you _doing _to me?"

Finally, she spoke: "You did that yourself." she said.

Her words were vague, yet he understood her meaning very well, and was once more angry. Not at her, though, but more at himself. "I didn't mean to-" he started, but she cut him.

"You still did it."

He growled low and deep. Suddenly, he wrenched himself away from her and stood on the other side of the cell, while she turned around and watched him. "I love you!" he spat at her. "I love you, and there's nothing either of us can do about it! Are you happy now? Did you get what you wanted?"

She shook her head. "No." she whispered, and another tear left her eye. "Not all I want."

He breathed in and out heavily, trying to stay angry at her for doing this to him. He failed miserably. He walked back to her and pulled her into a hug. She stiffened a bit, at first, but then relaxed bit by bit into his embrace. "What do you want?" he asked.

She sighed and wrapped her arms around his middle, being too small to wrap them around his chest. "I want…" she whispered, hesitant. She pulled away a bit and looked straight into his eyes. He felt himself melt into their depth as she finished: "I want freedom."

He stiffened immediately. "Freedom?" he asked, unsure. "But, you used to say-"

"I know what I used to say." she told him, now full and bursting with energy. "I know I lost hope! But now, I can feel it, bubbling in my chest! I want freedom! I want freedom with you!"

He took some time to answer, but in time, he did. "I'm not sure about the first part," he admitted. "But the second… You can have me, I'm yours."

She smiled. "Thank you."

-o-O-o-

"What is this place?" Hermione asked once Draco had Disapparated them to a hiding place. Escaping had been ridiculously easy. He had just needed to walk her through the Manor with a Dillusionment Charm put in place, and place a decoy in her place. It wouldn't last long, however, but he didn't plan on returning anyway.

"It's just a flat I bought a while ago." he declared, absentmindedly.

She nodded. "So this is where we're gonna stay, then?" she asked. "Until the war is over?"

He nodded. "Until the war is over." he repeated. He now sincerely hoped the Order would win, now. After all, now that he had to take care of Hermione, he didn't want to die. And, looking at her small figure exploring her new environment, he knew she didn't want to either.

-o-O-o-

Hermione and Draco lived together for almost a year. Neither of them ever had interaction with either the Order or the Death Eaters. They lived a peaceful life, both having Muggle jobs and cohabiting rather nicely.

They wouldn't call themselves a couple, for they had no one to talk to about it, but they were together. They happily, at least until, in the Daily Prophet, they had found out that Bellatrix and Lucius had died in a dragon accident. The Death Eaters had fallen prey to panic, without a leader, and had surrendered. The War was over.

Draco had felt like celebrating, but Hermione had been oddly quiet. He wondered why that was, at first, but as they both went to sleep, he blamed it all on shock.

The next day, however, they argued. If the midst of the action, Draco had spat out: "Potter, Potter, Potter! Even dead he can piss the shit out of me!"

She had locked herself into their room for the whole afternoon. He hadn't regretted it, at first, but then realised that he had gone too far. Insulting the dead, especially the girlfriend's-best-friend-who-saved-the-world-twice kind of dead, was over the line.

When he heard the key turn in the lock, he planned on apologising straight away. But what he saw made his breath catch in his throat. Hermione, red eyes and tissue in hand, was carrying a suitcase. "What's this?" he asked her, panicking. "What are you doing?"

She sighed and sniffled a bit. "I have to go, Draco." she said.

He breathed deeply. "Hermione, we had one fight, I was preparing to apologise to you-"

"It's not your fault." she whispered.

"Yes, it is." he tied to reason. "If I hadn't insulted Potter-"

"It's not your fault." she repeated. "It's all mine."

He was puzzled. "I'm not quite sure where you're heading with this." he admitted to her.

She sighed. "I've lied to you." she revealed, and he stiffened. "I've been lying to you for over a year… At that time, Harry was dead and people considered me fragile and broken. Then hope came up. A mission. A mission that could make us end this war for good. I had to have a Death Eater bring me to the Manor as a prisoner, get some information and transmit it to the Order."

"But how?" he asked. "No Order member ever got in and out, except for you…"

"We had a double agent." she told him.

Everything clicked into place. "Blaise." he breathed out.

She nodded. "Exactly. Blaise was on our side, and I would report every little scrap of info I could get… And then we discovered something. A certain hobby, involving dragons, your aunt and your father."

He gulped down. "You killed them." he said.

She shook her head. "They did that themselves. After all, it's the Hogwarts motto: '_Never tickle a sleeping dragon_'… In any case, when we had the plan all figured out, they told me to get out of the Manor and live in hiding. You were the best option I had."

He stayed silent for a long time before he declared: "I didn't know you. I didn't know anything about you, and you used hat to your advantage. You used me, played me, I was just a pawn in your plan…"

"It wasn't like that." she sighed.

"Really?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "How was it, then?" When she didn't answer, he shook his head. "That's what I thought. You can leave."

He stepped aside to let her go away, and she walked past him, not once meeting his eye. When she was at the doorstep, she declared: "I told you… I've warned you… I _can_ beat you at your own game."

The door closed.

-o-O-o-

Draco flipped his car key and switched the engine off. '_16, Mirabel Street_' he thought. '_That's where she lives._'

He didn't know precisely why he'd gone to her house, but he knew it had something to do with dreaming. Draco Malfoy dreamed that Hermione Jean Granger could come home to live with him. It was a ridiculous prospect, of course, as she was probably going to marry the Weasel and have a bunch of red-headed bookworms.

But he liked dreaming. It made him feel alive. He stepped out of his car and onto London's pavement. It was raining. Shivering despite his cloak, Draco pulled out a bottle of vodka and uncorked it. He took a swig and declared: "I'll be back. I'll always run back to you, 'Mione."

He drank some more, wallowing over his sorrow. He somehow relished the feel of the cold and wet raindrops beading over his skin, cooling the heat the alcohol was giving him. He finished his bottle and swung it in her garden.

"It's not the end!" he half-yelled, half-slurred out at the empty street. "Fine, I fell really hard for you, but I'm never gonna give in! Soon, the whole world will know! I won't let you forget anything! Not even these tears that I saw you shed! You'll never be able to move on! Just like me! I'll make it impossible to let go!"

Satisfied with his ranting, he stepped back inside his car to drive back home. How he made it back alive, he didn't know, but it had little to do with his clear mind. Once inside the flat, he staggered over to the kitchen, whispering to various objects so that they would make less noise.

He pulled a soberness potion out of a drawer and downed it, spilling some on his silk shirt on the way. The effect was instantaneous. Now walking normally, he went to the entrance, only to find a shoe box wrapped in silver and green paper, which definitely wasn't supposed to be there.

He picked it up and walked to the living room and, sitting down on the sofa, he opened it. Inside lay a small kitten, all blond and cute sleeping peacefully in a blanket. Amazed, Draco stroked the snoozing feline, and it opened huge, round chocolate brown eyes.

Around its neck lay a collar, with a medal and a small paper card attached. The medal read '_Sorry_'. Draco took the card and opened it: '_Happy Birthday_' was all it read.

It didn't take genius for him to guess who had sent the present. Draco picked Sorry up and walked to his biggest window, stroking him in the process. "Oh, well." he told the now again sleeping fluff ball. "I guess I really am losing my mind."

-o-O-o-

**Please review! :)**


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